


Prophetic

by Mirianne



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Canonical torture, Gen, Palpatine makes an appearance, Prophetic Dreams, Vader being Vader, Vader having a death wish, Vader's health, character death in dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 15:52:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17831570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirianne/pseuds/Mirianne
Summary: After Bespin, Vader finds himself suffering from visions of a type that's still far too familiar.  This time, they focus on a fight yet to come in the Endor system, on his son's pain and grief.  His despair and fatalism war with care of Luke, something he can no longer deny.So Vader is left to decide if he will surrender to the fate the Force shows him or if he will try to change what he has foreseen, one last time.





	Prophetic

**Author's Note:**

> This includes lines from _Return of the Jedi_ , in italics to mark them.

_“I’ll not leave you here, I’ve got to save you!”_

_“You already. . .have, Luke.  You were right about me.  Tell your sister. . .you were right.”_

Vader jolted awake in his hyperbaric chamber to the scream of alarms warning his heart rate and respiration were trying to go out of control, that the systems that maintained them were struggling.  It was one of the downsides of being in the hyperbaric chamber, of being able to regulate his own breathing within limits.  Within the mask, his breathing was forced to the steady, even pattern pushing air into and out of his ruined lungs at the rhythm much of the Galaxy now associated with him.

Now, with the experience that came of years of practice, he  _forced_  his breathing back under control until the alarms settled to a less urgent sound and his head stopped spinning for lack of oxygen.  Forcing his breathing under control helped to bring his heart back into a slower, steadier rhythm, too.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had that dream, but he thought his reaction was actually getting worse by this third iteration.  He hated it.  One of the few good things to come of his Fall and the loss of those he loved was the lack of intensity in his prophetic dreams.  He’d still had them, but they’d been less intense.  Now, knowing of his son, the intensity had returned.

But in the end, this one wasn’t so bad.  He died, yes, but his son did not.  If his life was the cost of his son’s, he could live with that.  Especially when he took his master, the greatest threat to his son, down with him.

_“Are you really so lost to despair or apathy, Ani?”_

The voice of his subconscious sounded far too much like Qui-Gon Jinn, but he tried to put the question from his mind.  He’d never been able to change his visions.  What point was there in trying now?  If this one went as he’d seen, Luke would be safe.  The heartbreak of Luke’s face right before Vader woke was hardly ideal, but it would be fleeting.  They shared blood, but they did not know one another.  Not really.

Though Luke might mourn for a time, surely that time would be brief and leave Luke free to move forward with his life.  To be happy.

Despite his best efforts, however, the question repeated in his mind at inopportune moments, and he couldn’t seem to forget it.  No more than he could forget Luke’s grief-stricken face.

That night, after finally finishing his duties  _without_  killing anyone, he retreated to his hyperbaric chamber but was in no way prepared to risk sleep, to risk another nightmare.  The next one might just kill him before he and his systems could regulate his heart or breathing.  He hated that it had to be a concern, but after more than twenty years, it was at least a familiar one.

Familiar enough he could put it from his mind, but he couldn’t put the vision away so easily.  If he hadn’t been able to forget it when actually occupied, it probably wasn’t a surprise he couldn’t when he was merely avoiding sleep.

Knowing his own obsessive tendencies, he accessed his systems to review what information he had on Luke and Luke’s whereabouts.  Even reviewing that information wasn’t enough to drive the sight of his son’s grief from his mind.  The last thing he’d seen before he died within the vision and woke outside it.  He knew where Luke would be eventually, if not when, so he tried to apply that knowledge to his data, tried to gain added insight.

However, after just a few minutes, the image of Luke from the vision returned to his mind’s eye.  This time, though the devastation on Luke’s face tore at him, sped both his heart rate and breathing enough for the monitors to sound the first, low warning, he sensed Luke through the Force as well, clearly enough to understand what he sensed.

There was so much grief, so much pain at the thought of losing Vader.  Luke’s determination to save him was stubborn enough to match both his parents at their worst.  Another stab of pain shot through Vader, and he clenched his jaw and took a moment to force his breathing to slow, to steady.

Luke was sending that determination and as much of his strength as he could muster to Vader, with no thought of the cost to himself.  He was  _willing_  Vader to live through the loss of his life support.  Every bit of that determination and strength was filled with Luke’s love for his father.

Something that should be impossible, given all Vader had done to Luke.  Yet despite all that had passed between them, the strength of Luke’s love was impossible to deny.

Even when Vader would have preferred it to be a bit less blatant, at least not all-consuming to the point that Luke was holding him as he died rather than getting off the station before it was destroyed by Luke’s own allies!

In that instant, it struck Vader hard that he had no idea if Luke  _had_  made it off the Death Star.  The vision ended with his death, with no hint to Luke’s ultimate fate.  Vader had just been assuming Luke would make it.  But it was entirely possible Luke would not.  Worse, even if Luke did get off the station, Force Lightning could be fatal, both immediately and more slowly.  Luke would not have made that any better by sending his strength to Vader in a futile attempt at healing Vader’s own injuries.

And that would make the vision a more understandable phenomenon, as well.  What would be more believable?  That he’d had prophetic visions of his own death, which he’d never feared, or that he was, yet again, dreaming of the fate of a loved one?

He smashed a fist into the wall of the chamber, barely resisting hitting the monitoring systems when they warned his respiration and pulse were once again climbing.  Then he sagged back in the chair, tipped his head back, and closed his eyes.

_“Despair is hardly productive, Ani.”_

He’d  _never_  succeeded in saving someone he loved from his visions.

_“You’ve never been one to give up so easily.”_

Last time, his refusal to accept defeat had led to far worse consequences than if he’d just given up, including leaving him to spend nineteen years thinking he’d caused exactly what he’d been trying to prevent.

But could he really do nothing in the face of his son’s death?  He had no qualms about giving his life for Luke’s as the visions showed he had, but it was hardly effective if Luke merely died anyway.

So what could he do?  What could he affect to ensure a better outcome?

The most obvious option was not to take Luke to the Emperor, but he could see a thousand ways that plan could go wrong.  His master watched him for any sign of the treachery that was the mark of the Sith, especially since learning of Luke’s identity.  If his master learned he refused to bring Luke, and he was certain Palpatine  _would_ learn, he would be branded a traitor.  The Emperor would continue to pursue Luke, but Vader would not be present to assist.  If he tried to remain with Luke, to intervene on that side, the Rebels would kill him.

No, he needed to do something less obvious, less predictable, less likely to paint a worse target on his son’s back.

For this to work, he’d need more information.  He hardly wanted to face that vision again, but he needed more than what he had.  He’d been caught up in the emotions of the events he’d seen, even when the vision repeated.  Now, he needed to survive it again and avoid getting caught up in the fear, the pain, the grief, enough that he could learn the details of events and find the best ways to send this vision off its flight plan.

* * *

When Vader retrieved the set of tools he kept in his hyperbaric chamber, they were uncared for, unused for an extended period.  He hadn’t realized it until that moment.

He closed his eyes for a second against the evidence that either his subconscious or his memories of Qui-Gon Jinn had been so accurate about how deep he’d sunk in apathy, in despair, in hopelessness.

But while he had a better idea of what the most likely time frame was, he couldn’t be  _sure_.  He didn’t have time for this.  He gathered his tools, cared for them where necessary, and started work.  He had to make periodic trips out of the hyperbaric chamber for parts or diagnostic equipment, which slowed his progress and ratcheted up his frustration each time.  

Unfortunately, he could only do this work in a sterile environment with the atmospheric conditions he needed to be able to breathe without the mask.  But his frustration wasn’t helping anything.  Losing his temper would just cost him more time.  Instead, he did his best to maintain his composure and work.

It was slow, so slow.  He was spending more of his time on this project than on his job, but Piett was competent.  And if he spent more time on the bridge, more of his officers would likely die for less reason.  Since his crew was accustomed to reading his moods, they weren’t upset that he was spending so much time in isolation.  Piett had quietly taken on reporting to him in most situations that required his involvement.

But however slow it was, he made progress.  There were mistakes, setbacks, and each one cost him a bit more of his hold on his temper.  But he kept working.

* * *

When he got too frustrated, he left the hyperbaric chamber for the training space he maintained, one no one else entered.  He trained against his sparring droids as usual, but he also took the time for something he hadn’t done in years.

He ran through forms and switched to run through them with the other hand, slowing down to be sure they were properly done.  It was an old training exercise, one that forced someone to be sure they knew the form properly because doing it with the off hand was harder.  Running forms with a non-dominant hand was harder than dual-wielding.  

Once he was more comfortable with the forms, he started sparring with the droids with his off hand as well.  He had to set the droids at lower levels and force himself not just to switch hands when he had trouble, but improvements here were at least easy to see.  And even when he had trouble, he didn’t get as frustrated as he did with the other work he was doing.

Sometimes, it was almost enjoyable.  It had been a long time since he had a real challenge related to fighting.  Every time he could set the droids up a level was a small victory.  That he was also seeing gains in fighting with his dominant hand surprised him but pleased him as well.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t spend all his time training.

* * *

 He’d told Piett he had a mission and taken a shuttle, leaving the squadron to continue hunting.  Palpatine would learn of his absence, but as his master knew him, he knew his master.  Palpatine would assume he was hunting Luke again, had gotten some lead and decided to pursue it with a bit more subtlety than dropping his flagship or his squadron into whatever system was involved.

He wasn’t pursuing Luke this time, of course.  No, any such encounter risked the efficacy of the small shifts he was planning, arranging, for his foretold encounter.  Risked his master watching him more closely, interfering in his actions.

Perhaps he should have expected to have an encounter when he was trying to avoid one, should have been less surprised when he caught sight of Luke in the corridor of the space station.

It was a wealthy, strictly neutral station in the Outer Rim, one that maintained its neutrality at nearly any cost.  They had their own security forces but also the funds and the technical abilities to secure that neutrality.  It helped that they were one of the best medical installations in the Galaxy, would treat anyone who could afford to come there, and maintained the privacy of those who visited with as much determination as their neutrality.  Their patients’ privacy was defended still more.

When Vader and Luke met in the corridor of the station, they both froze.  Then Vader’s eyes raked over Luke’s form.  “You are well?”

Luke stood straight and stiff, hand hovering near his belt but not drawing a weapon.

Whether that was because Luke didn’t want to fight or because he wouldn’t violate the station’s neutrality, Vader couldn’t say.

“I’m fine,” Luke said at last.

“Good.”

Though it was so, so difficult, Vader forced himself to turn away.  He stalked back down the corridor, felt his son’s eyes burning into his back until he turned the corner that would lead to a longer route to the waiting room for the office he was here to visit.  When he reentered the waiting room two days later, he froze at the sense of his son’s presence, strong and recent.  He looked quickly around the room and wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed not to see Luke.  Walking away from his son once had been nearly impossible.  He didn’t think he’d be able to manage it a second time, however good his reasons.

With that in mind, much as he wanted to know if Luke was still on the station and what had brought Luke there to begin with, he didn’t go hunting for his son, didn’t even reach out in the Force to try to sense Luke’s presence.  He returned to his shuttle and left the station, returning to his ship.  To his squadron.  To his duties that were so much less important but that he had to complete to keep his master from wondering what he was planning.

* * *

 The second time he left his squadron would be more dangerous, but he chose not to warn Piett.  Once again, he claimed a mission and left.

His master had asked a cursory question or two about his previous absence, but since Luke  _had_  actually been on the station he’d gone to, claiming that he’d gotten word of it and gone to investigate wasn’t difficult.

This time, he took a personal ship rather than one that would be immediately recognized as Imperial, though he brought his fighter with him.  That gave him two ships with hyperdrives.  Options.

She was waiting for him when he landed, arms folded over her chest.  “What brings you back?” she asked when he’d left the ship and stood across from her.  “Much as I appreciated the freighter you arranged, we didn’t part on the best terms.  The sabotaged engines and communications system were a nice touch, by the way.  It almost looked like damage from the crash.”

“I did not come to fight.”

“I guessed as much, since you came openly.  And supplied an entire freighter of rations.  Twice.  What, decided to bring them yourself this time?”

“What makes you so sure I had anything to do with whatever supplies you managed to salvage here?”

“A freighter stocked with rations for a Togruta that just happens to have the two systems that would let me get off-world sabotaged crashes here one month after our fight.  And a second one with the same supplies and the same sabotage a few years later.  If that wasn’t enough, you included something that could easily be repurposed into a sparring droid both times.  Besides, I recognize your hand with mechanics.  Did you really expect me not to figure it out?”

He rolled his eyes, secure behind his mask.  No, he just hadn’t cared much.  He hadn’t wanted her dead.  “You were a resource.  This is not a hospitable world.  If I wished to ensure you remained a resource, it was necessary to do something to ensure it.”

Laughing, she shook her head.  “You can claim that all you want.  Is it what brings you here?”

“Perhaps.”  He hesitated, not wanting to admit to weakness.  But this was why he’d come.  “I am having visions again.  Nightmares.”

Paling, she took two rapid steps closer.  “Are you—all right, Anakin?”

He frowned at her.  “Why would you ask me that?”  He wasn’t sure if he was more surprised her question focused on him or that she’d ask at all.

“Most of those you care about are dead.  You are still claiming to view me as a resource.  Palptine is still alive, but somehow I don’t think you view him as a friend any longer.  Besides, you’re a Darksider.”

And Darksiders were predisposed to selfishness.  “I have a son.  The vision was centered on him.”  Yes, Vader had been the one to die, but he doubted that was what the vision was warning him about.

It had been a long time, a  _long_  time, since his own death was something to fear.

Ahsoka’s eyes had widened at the revelation, and it took her a minute to answer.  “I thought Padmé died pregnant!”

“So had I, for more than nineteen years.  I do not wish to speak of her death, Ahsoka.”

Big eyes he still knew the exact shade of, though he could not see the blue through the red taint of his mask, filled with tears.  She blinked them away and tried to meet his gaze through the mask.  “No.  I don’t want to, either.  So this vision is why you’re here?”  She was steady before him, no trace of fear on her face or in her Force presence.

No trace of anger, either.  Nor the heartbreak that had been so clear when she first realized who he was.

Apparently, the years she’d spent here had let her come to terms with that, enough that she could interact with him so calmly.

“I have never succeeded in averting my visions completely.  This time, I have a different idea.”  He paused, lips twisting until the fragile skin of his face strained and stung.  “ _That_  is why I am here.  To ask if you are willing to help.”

“Tell me what you’re planning.  I won’t make any blind guarantees, but I meant what I promised years ago.  I’ll at least hear you out.”

Reluctantly satisfied, he waved a hand to his ship and guided her to its dining compartment, equipped with a food synth that was stocked but unused, since Vader had no use for it.

Once he was sure she had food and her preferred tea, he sat down across from her and started talking.

* * *

 His last task, and in some ways the riskiest, did not involve leaving his squadron or even his flagship.  Instead, he summoned Piett to speak with him in his private office, one he’d ensured was unmonitored just before sending the summons.  He checked it regularly, but for this meeting, he needed the extra precaution.

Within ten minutes of sending the summons, Piett stood in front of the desk.  “You sent for me, Lord Vader?”

Vader turned from where he’d been staring out at the stars and moved to stand behind the desk.  “I did.  The Force has warned me of a potential battle in the Endor system, where the second Death Star is being constructed.”  He caught a fleeting sense of Piett’s distaste for the battle station, but the admiral controlled it well.  Good.  “I do not know if the battle I foresaw will take place, but I wish to take precautions.  What I foresaw included the destruction of this ship.”

Piett went pale but quickly gathered his composure.  “Yes, milord.  What do I need to do?”

“If the Rebels do attack the Endor system in an attempt to destroy the Death Star, you must stay back, out of the main battle.  If you participate in the battle, the Rebels may attempt to drive you into the Death Star, hoping to use this ship as a method of destroying it.”

Again, Piett went pale.  “That will weaken the defense of the station.”

“Better to weaken the defense than to contribute to destroying it and lose the ship as well.  In the battle I foresaw, we had led the Rebels into a trap, an ambush.  Besides, if my flagship stays back from the fighting, should the worst happen and the Rebels repeat their impossible feat, I will be able to use the ship to rally our forces.”  Even to Piett, Vader wasn’t willing to admit his personal dislike of the station, that he would sooner see it destroyed than defend it.  “Do you understand, Admiral?”

Piett came to attention.  “Yes, milord.  Consider it done.”

When Piett was gone, Vader allowed himself one minute to close his eyes and breathe.  Now came the hard part.

The waiting.

* * *

 Vader’s resolve to follow his plan had some flaws.  Some more trying moments.  Not being an idiot, he was well aware that Luke would be going to Tatooine to save his friend.  He remembered that drive, that loyalty.  His son had not learned better, though Bespin had shown him that an amoral enemy could use that against him.  Fortunately for Luke, Vader currently had other plans.

But his preoccupation with those plans, his resolve to wait for them to come to fruition, was sorely tested when he felt shock, pain, and a quickly controlled rush of fear from the bond between them.

_Luke?_

There was a brief pause, and Vader turned more attention to the bond.   _This isn’t a good time_ , Luke said abruptly.  The first time he’d actually answered since Bespin.

Vader suppressed a wince.  He had been a fighter for longer than Luke had been alive; he knew better than to distract someone in a fight.  Rather than demand answers, he sent his mind down the bond to find those answers for himself.  Luke’s bright, Light presence was less oppressive than it had been, burned less against his mind.

But that was far less important than the rancor.  What was Luke doing fighting a rancor?  Without thinking about it, he reached a little further and slowed the rancor’s movements when it lunged at Luke.

If Jabba survived this and Vader had time, he might just be making his own trip to Tatooine.  He wouldn’t have to put one prosthetic toe on the planet to destroy that Hutt.  An SSD would be more than sufficient.

Luke handled the fight well.  He’d have survived without Vader’s interference, though Vader intervened once more to prevent a chance at injury.

_Thanks,_ Luke said eventually, when the fight was over.  His Force presence was cautious, but the thanks were sincere.

When Vader sensed the Hutt’s enforcers capture Luke, he started to reach out again.  But Luke intervened.   _No, it’s fine.  We have a plan._

_Very well._   He’d trust that, especially as his visions implied Luke survived this mission, until he sensed further trouble.

* * *

 But the next time he sensed trouble from Luke was after he’d sensed Luke and his allies enter the Endor system, had let their shuttle land on the Forest Moon.  This time, sensing Luke captured by the tiny Ewoks, Vader shook his head.

Nevertheless, despite the diminutive and primitive nature of this opponent, he still monitored Luke’s presence just in case.  And was baffled and amused at seeing Threepio thought of as a god.

He withdrew when the situation was resolved and waited.  It was time to see if what he’d dreamed played out, if his nightmares and visions were still as accurate.

This time, Luke reached out to Vader.   _I’m coming._

Vader closed his eyes, unsure if he was upset or reassured at that knowledge.

This was the last moment when he could decide between his plans and the course already laid.  This was the last moment when anything could change.  Once Luke surrendered, he would be committed.

Their mental link allowed him to warn Luke off.

Palpatine’s presence, his master’s presence, was the deciding factor.  Eyes still closed, mouth twisted with grief and pain until the fragile scars that made up the skin of his face tore, he stayed silent.

Surely, surely, if Vader died, Luke would have the sense to leave the station before it was destroyed.  

Then he strode away from any watching eyes, to somewhere he could pace in peace, burn off some of the nervous energy waiting left him with.

He knew too well his visions came true.

Luke would be there soon enough.  Then both of them would go to meet their destiny.

* * *

  _“The Emperor has been expecting you.”_

_“I know, Father.”_

_“So you have accepted the truth.”_

The words seemed to come from a distance, like he was living through the dream again.  Like he couldn’t change anything, couldn’t retake control of his own actions.  He walked through what he’d seen, almost in a daze but also sharply, painfully aware of his son’s presence both in his red-tainted sight and in the Force.

Almost, he wanted the daze to take over completely.  He knew he could function through it, had fought entire campaigns that way at the depths of his apathy, but if these were the only moments he’d have with his son, he’d live them.  He didn’t want to miss any single detail.

_“Then my father is truly dead.”_

In spite of everything, the words stabbed into him.  And they struck with every bit of the impact Luke intended.  More.  He’d thought he was ready for them.  He’d thought he was prepared, that knowing those words were coming would help him survive them.  Especially as he’d heard them repeatedly already.  Knowing Luke had been trying to provoke him to action didn’t help.

And he’d thought the fatalism that had seen him through so much would let him survive this, too.

He’d been wrong.  Luke’s words scored deep, bleeding wounds in his psyche.

Would that please his son?  To know Luke succeeded in affecting him?

Regardless, it took until morning for Vader to regain sufficient composure to risk going near his master.  Any sooner would just have been an invitation to more pain.

Not worse pain.  No, his master no longer had the ability to hurt him to that extent.  Only Luke could have such an impact on him now.  But the Emperor would take that as a challenge.

Once they were in the Emperor’s throne room, Vader found that despite his best efforts, the dreamlike quality came back over his mind.  It was the only way he could deal with watching his master use mind games to try to break his son.

He had fallen to those tricks once, had failed this test.

Despite the fact that it meant the Emperor’s games were working, Vader found it easier once the fight started.  He’d always been more comfortable in combat.

Luke had improved in the time since Bespin.  Vader had to suppress the flickers of pride just as much as he had to suppress the instincts Luke’s attempts to call him back awoke.  But he managed.  Even when Luke took his hand and sent both hand and lightsaber tumbling away, beyond any attempted retrieval.

Vader hated being unarmed and on his back before Luke, waiting.  Having to wait to learn if Luke would, indeed, turn aside as he’d foreseen or if the son would follow the father in this as so many things.

But Luke did turn away.  Turned away, stood straight, and spat defiance into the face of the Emperor himself.

Much as Vader wanted to scold Luke for throwing away his only weapon, the sheer power of Luke’s victory stole his breath and any chance to criticize.

Then the Emperor was throwing Force Lightning at his son.  He’d been expecting it, but while he wanted to believe he acted faster than he would have without the visions, he could be fooling himself.  Still, he took the actions he’d dreamed of just the same, his chance to avoid that Force Lightning lost with his lightsaber, and tossed the man who’d been his master down the shaft.

Then Luke had to keep him from tumbling after as something shattered in his mind and his life support faltered.  The work he’d done to keep his life support functioning through this precise attack wasn’t enough, but he could stumble along at Luke’s side to the hangar.  He was determined to stay conscious, to be sure Luke at least got away.

When they reached the hangar, he made the mistake of relaxing at one presence he sensed.  Then he fell at the ramp of the shuttle Luke was trying to guide him to.

_“Luke.  Help me take off this mask.”_

_“But you’ll die!”_

_“Nothing_ —“ he cut himself off with a vicious twist.  He was  _done_  following this vision so precisely.  He’d die in a heartbeat if it saved Luke, but he couldn’t trust his death would save his child.

Luke was already trying to will Vader strength through the Force, with little thought to his own welfare.

Then she was there.  “Do it.  His life support is doing more harm than good at the moment.  Then we’ll get him on the shuttle.  I have temporary life support for him.”

Luke stared at her but then scrambled forward and obeyed.  Vader flinched as his vision hazed and the air, so different from what his mask provided, burned in his damaged lungs.  Losing the sensory input his mask provided so abruptly meant he couldn’t follow everything that happened as she and Luke got him up and moving again.

“Get us off the station,” her familiar voice ordered.  “I have him.”

“Can I trust you?”

There was a long pause.

“I love him, too,” she said at last.  “Even after everything.  I won’t leave him.”

Then gentle hands were fitting something over his nose and mouth, and oxygen flowed into his lungs.  It cleared his head, if not his sight.  At the same time, he sensed movement from the shuttle.

“Next time, make sure I have a medical kit before you go demanding someone remove your life support,” she told him sharply.

“I can. . .breathe a few minutes. . .unaided,” he said, the words coming slow, his voice barely there.  “Better than. . .a failed respirator.”

“Fine.  I’ll give you that, at least.  Do you need anything else?  I’ve got the full kit we prepped.”

“No.  Other preparations. . .worked.  I will not. . .stay conscious. . .much longer.”

“That’s all right.”  She leaned closer, close enough he could recognize one blur as her face.  “I’ll go tell your stubborn son to take us to your ship.  You rest.  Rest and heal.  He’ll need you at your best when you wake.”

At his best, indeed.  “You aren’t. . .as subtle as. . .you think.”

“Learned everything from you, Master.”

The almost laugh and the presences of the two people he loved best followed him down into darkness.

Into sleep.  Sleep that carried no further horrors with it.  And for once, he didn’t dread the thought of waking.

 

 


End file.
